Le journal de France
by Le Capitaine
Summary: England one day finds France's diary, and when the opportunity to read the many volumes arises, it is too hard to resist...  JeannexFrance and FrancexNations at the beginning, Later FrUk. Rated for later chapters.
1. Language

**A/N: Hello guys! Woot! I'm so excited as this is my very first fan fiction! Hopefully with time, I'll get better at it.**

**For now, please enjoy!**

_Cher journal,_

_I have received you today from a man in this strange land which strangely enough finally became it's own country today—a true nation now. His name, he has decided, would be England, something which left a bad taste in my mouth. I did not tell him off as usual however. It was about time that he became his own, like I was. It would also be time for him to carry his own weight like a man._

_Speaking of which, the amount that he's grown since the last time I saw him was something that had me staring at him with amazement. He told me to stop looking at him with such a strange look. When I realized I what he was going on about when I felt my jaw was slacking like a dead man's! Mon Dieu, it was embarrassing! He wittingly remarked that he would lend me a cloth to close my mouth with if I needed it._

_Later on, he invited me to where he lived nowadays in the castle of his roi, his king._

_It seemed that somehow, the more I stayed around this man as Arthur, the more open he would continue to be with me, offering me things which I do not need and being generally mild and cordial in my presence. However, being with him as this new England, was more of a torture than a slow death! He seemed always tense, always suspicious. A man quick to be foulmouthed and get hot at even the most childish of remarks began to slowly corrupt my best friend. I fear he shall soon raise arms against me._

_Nevertheless, friend or enemy, I will continue to call him Angleterre. Land of the Anglos. It was the first thing I called him, and thus, I shall continue to address him as such. _

_He is no longer my petit lapin. Il faut que je fasse avec._ _ I only hope that we can continue to be friends, with all sincerity. In these times, he is all I have. And more as much as he says he hates me, I'm all he has too._

_C'est __la vérité absolue._

—_Fran_ç_ois Bonnefoi_

England closed the book the instant he heard the Frenchman's voice echoing down the hall and scrambled to put it back in its place among the many volumes. No, not in the right place, but what sort of man would the Brit be if he would be able to understand French anymore? He used to, but it was now as intelligible as Greek.

"Ah, Angleterre! Did you find my library useful to your research?"

"Hn." The younger grunted, taking hold of the book on economics that he had picked out previously and opened it up. "You seem to have quite the extensive English collection of books, for as much as you say you hate my language. It makes me wonder…"

France wore a thin smile as he entered the room, taking slow, light steps towards the spot England sat in. "There is no reasons to why my English collections is so large, if that is what you are speaking of, Angleterre." He raised a hand up, flipped up nonchalantly. "I buy whatever I think looks interesting, regardless of culture. I have nothing against your mutt of a language… I simply believe mine is much better than your own."

Immediately, England's sight shifted from the blur of words to the elder's face. "Is that a challenge of some sort?" he asked, slightly amused. "I'm sure my language is much more interesting than your own. It may be a mutt language as you say, but at least it doesn't take one a thousand years to learn it. Mutts happen to have diversity, you aristocratic git!"

"Ah, _cher Angleterre_…" Francis seemed to be unscathed by the personally hurtful remark. It was the things related to his past that he took offence to the most. It was a couth elegance that he was taught to have in the face of insult that held him together while arguing with England. He knew that most of what he spoke of were exaggerated stereotypes or lies. It was when he told the truth that the Frenchman would become upset.

"You seem to forget, that at one point, your nation's national language was my own! My aristocratic ways was what you thought to be cool, non? _Oh, anglais c'est une langue __affreux! La langue Anglaise, j'en ai rien à cirer!_ You do not remember the calls of your people as you continued to use your own mutt language in lieu of mine?"

Arthur stood up from his seat at that moment, his blood beginning to boil. "Yes, I also remember kicking your sorry ass on multiple occasions. Just because you have a cultural influence on people doesn't mean it's going to backfire right in your bloody face! Look at what the Americans think of you, France! You're nothing but a cheese eating surrender monkey to them!" The Englishman scoffed. "Your language is simply an array of derogatory terms and pick up lines! It is no more sophisticated than it is the language of romance, as you such claim it to be!"

"My language is more than just sexual references! If you perhaps used it for more than for that, you'd unde—"

_**POW!**_

England punched France as hard as he could at that moment. He could felt a crack as soon as he fell back. Once the other was on the floor, he turned back, and picked up the book off the floor, feeling a very painful sting in his hands as he wrapped his right hand around the book. "I am by no means, one of _those_ men, frog! I am taking my leave!" Arthur took a final glance at the one on the floor, only to see that he was knocked out. "…Bloody hell, Francis. You make me go to such levels…it's all your fault." He muttered. Heaving a heavy sigh, his eyes wondered back to where Francis journals were. In silence, he would take as many as he could carry out and make his way to the door.

If anything good came out of this, it was this much. Admittedly, France's writing style was interesting, to say the least.

**A/N: This was a surprisingly short chapter, and I promise that the others shall be longer and better than this! Actually, that'll be a given, seeing as this'll be a long story. Until next chapter! [You can probably tell I'm not too good with Author Notes] Don't forget to R&R!**

**Glossary:**

_**Ah, cher Angleterre… (Ah, dear England...)**_

_**Mon Dieu (My God)**_

_**Petit lapin (Little Rabbit**_

_**Il faut que je fasse avec. (I have to put up with it.)**_

_**C'est **__**la vérité absolue. (That's [or it is] the absolute truth)**_

_**Oh, anglais c'est une langue **__**affreux! L'Anglais, j'en ai rien à cirer! (Oh English, it is a horrible language! The English language, I have no use for it/I don't give a damn [for it].)**_


	2. Order

**A/N: This chapter was pretty fun to write! Please Enjoy!**

**I don't own Hetalia by the way. –completely forgot about Disclaimers the last time-**

_Cher Journal,_

_I saw him breaking down again today._

_As a country, I've realized that he is not the best company to hang around. As I have told you before, he is rude, foul mouthed and arrogant. However, he seems quite desperate to sign a treaty with me that would join our nations during this most pressing time. The Great War was perhaps not the war to end all wars, but there shall be others and England needs to understand this. However much trouble we are in, we shall get out of it alive. It is always so, ever since we began to fight joined against the rest of Europe. We are former empires and a simple German country is not going to bring our heads to the floor. _

_That is what I told him when I made objections to the union. The problem is that France is a lost cause by this point. If we were to join together, he would have to fight twice as hard to salvage me from Germany and his lot. They cut through my nation every day, and I'm starting to feel the effects. My health is failing. I can barely get out of bed sometimes. My lifestyle is certainly not helping me get any better. My country and I, we are too much of a mess to be saved by Angleterre with a last minute plan like the Franco-British Union. Even my bosses agree to that much, and certainly, I'm sure we're not the only ones that think so. I would rather become a Nazi than have him go through all the trouble for me._

_C'est la vérité absolue._

_Francis Bonnefoy_

The book was immediately shut by England and placed it in between two similar to it in size, shape and color. He sat in his study, the many volumes that he would be able to carry surrounding him. It seemed that in his carelessness, he had completely forgotten which volume was which. Scribbling down on some tape, he slapped on the appropriate date span on the cover of the journal he had just read.

The self proclaimed gentleman had been since his trip to France's house attempting to find out which book was the one he was reading. "August 1939 to December 1940…" he muttered, feeling his brows knit tightly together into a frown. "Bloody hell, I'll never find the book I was on at this rate! He takes such good care of his things that they all look in perfect condition!" Possibly jinxing himself, he continued skimming the books and labeling them for his own convenience. He tried not to read too much, as out of order reading made things less enjoyable.

A loud knock sounded from the door, making him skew his writing off the tape and onto the book. His eyes widened at this. "BULLOCKS!" he stood up as quick as he could, ignoring the increasingly loud knocks and rushed to his kitchen to get some spray and a small paper towel The man at the door, the brit knew was not France.

"HEY BRITAIN DUDE! LET ME IN!" the boisterous voice called.

England started to scrub on the hard cover book, getting the most ink he could for a permanent marker. At least the book volumes he had were made of black leather. It would be hard for France to detect the ink, he reassured himself.

"BRITAIN!"

"Stick a sock in it, America!" Arthur finally replied, slamming the book down on the table and taking hard stomps to the door. He could only manage to creek it open before Alfred slammed his hand on the door, pushing the Brit betwixt the wall and the wide open door. He managed to open his mouth, but no sound came out. Luckily, the other closed the door before the Brit could make that sound.

"Like, dude…you didn't forget now, did you?" America asked flatly, disappointed somehow.

England pushed against the American before going back to his table. "No I did not! Only you would be guilty of having such a fatal flaw…" he lied. Sitting down, the next book was opened and England begun to read again. His back was hunched protectively over the volumes, as if to protect them from the other's line of sight.

"Then why are you over there! We still gotta pick up Canadia and France!" he complained, raising his fist up in the air, only to quickly throw it to his side. "It's Sunday night, man! I gave up football to do this!"

"It's Canada, you twit, and I think they can bloody well wait another hour or two…" he turned to him and quickly noticed the clock above. His thick eyebrow twitched as he noticed the time. "And you're four hours early! What are you even doing here?"

A moment of silence past before America lowered his arms and slackened. A sheepish expression overtook his composure. "France told me to get something from you…" he put a hand on the back of his head, laughing slightly. "Something about it being something personal…"

At this, England froze, eyes widening. He couldn't have found out so quickly that his diaries were gone! There were so many volumes he left behind for that purpose! "W-What did he tell you to get from me…?"

"Woah, dude…did you suddenly get sick or something? You sound pretty hoarse…" he dug into his pocket and took out a packet of cough drops, about to hand them over to England only to have him scramble over the table to hide what was on it. America suddenly raised an eyebrow, unnerved by his suddenness. "Anyways…France told me to get his Zippo."

"W-What boo—Wait…what?"

"His Zippo. You know, the metal lighter with the French flag on it?"

He stayed silent for a moment, slowly reaching into his pocket and pulling out a lighter which was coated with the French flag. "Oh…his…Zippo. Wait, why the bloody hell is he using an American lighter when he makes some of his own?"

"Because Zippo lighters aren't snuffed out by the wind and Bic lighters are pieces of disposable crap! The only awesome thing to come from that company is the lead pencil." Alfred quickly took out his own lighter, which donned his own flag and an Eagle, each with its own side. "See this..." he lit the lighter and blew on it gently. The fire did not blow out, as he had stated but did so when he closed up the cap. "Ah, the trusty Zippo! They're standard issue in the military, although I actually went out of my way to get one like this. It's a great investment! They're refillable and if it ever fails, it'll be replaced by the company for free! It's totally an awesome product, huh?"

By the time that he looked back up to England however, he was reading the journals again. "Awesome means terrible, git." The other's ramblings were never too interesting or coherent to him. It was better to just correct him where he was wrong than to listen and possibly lose intelligence.

"Wha- ff- HEY!" America clenched his fist and shook it at the other, clearly offended. "I poured my heart out for this amazing product so you could know of how cool American ingenuity is and you go ahead and give me the cold shoulder? Not cool, man!" he walked over to the other and took the book from the table. "What is this anyway?"

"Hey-! No! Don't read that!" England stood up, only to get pushed down to his seat with America's palm on his head. It was burning that America was so much stronger than him.

With a small chuckle, Alfred opened to the middle of the book. "Cher Journal…French gibberish, French gibberish, French gibberish…Francis Bonnefoy. Dude, you stole France's man-diary?"

"It wasn't stolen! I simply took it from his library while he was passed out on the floor from a blow I gave him to the head."

"Eww dude…" he laughed.

"Does that even make sense as an innuendo?"

"You managed to catch it, so I guess it does…" America shrugged. "All these entries are in French with like, only a few English phrases sprinkled in! How can you steal this crap?"

"It isn't crap! The entries are actually quite interesting, I'll have you know! And besides, it isn't stolen…France said I could take anything that would be helpful to my research…"

"And the personal thoughts of a pervert you've known all your life is helpful because…?"

"Maybe my research is on how to live with insufferable gits and frogs!" England took back the book and started to read from it again, before labeling it. "January 1449 to July 1453…" he said to himself. "Looks like France didn't really bother to organize these things…"

"Can I help out? What are you doing to France's man-diaries?"

Arthur grunted. "I'm trying to find the one I was on….which was on the day that I became a country. So far, I found some on the Hundred Years War, both World Wars, the beginning on all the French Republics, the French Revolution, several other wars he was involved in…"

The American picked up one of the unlabeled journals and began to read. "Maybe he did organize them…just not by date. It sounds like he organized them by significance. Which Hundred Years' War part was it?" he took out his iPhone and went on the internet.

"The one I just said right now...January 1449 to July 1453…" Arthur murmured. "It was the end of the war, pretty much."

"And that chick...she was in that war, right?"

"That chick?" England's stomach began to turn. He didn't need to even need to ask about which _chick_ he was talking about with France. She was the only one that ever mattered to him. The only one that could make him burn more than the Englishman himself. He clenched his teeth and cocked his head away from the books.

"France told me a lot about her during the…well…the_ unmentionable _war. He'd actually spend a lot of his time talking about her when he came to watch us in Valley Forge." America smiled bitterly. "He was happy to suffer with us because he knew things would get better. When he saw how we managed to wait out the winter, not to mention the battles we won in the last fall, he decided he'd help us out."

This much only made the Englishman look worse. He seemed deathly sick at the mention of that girl, France and that war all at the same time. "Th-That would make sense…" he looked away as he said this, fist closing tightly. He kept back the memories as best as he could.

"But anyways, it says in Wikipedia that she lived up to nineteen…and that the Siege of Orleans, which she was a key player in, was in 1429. She was long gone by the end of the war…so, that being said…" America closed the journal, setting the it down so he could hold his smartphone with both hands. "You obviously don't have that book with you right now. You put it back in its rightful place, right?"

"Yeah but…how would you know if I didn't take the right journal?" He opened the last three unlabeled books and frowned, seeing that all three were of times much later than 1453. "Bloody Hell! This system is hard to figure out!"

"Not really, Arthur. All you really have to do is actually listen to what France has to say. The reason why you're so confused is that you have your head up your ass about us."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" This was becoming more trouble than it was worth way too fast for England. "Are you implying that I have some sort of 'higher than thou' attitude about you all?"

"Yes. And I'm not implying it, man. It's a proven fact that you do. Like how we all thought Japan knew too much to just be an innocent country, even though you insisted otherwise?" America crossed his arms. "You don't know as much as you think you do. I think maybe, you should try to open your mind to other people's opinions. His system is based on how he feels about people and the world. Figure him out and you figure out the system. I think you should read it in order of least significant to most though…like it's supposed to be read."

"Hn…I'll give it a try." Arthur moved away from the table and looked towards the clock again. About an hour had passed. "Let's go now. I need to ask as France a few questions anyways…" he stepped past the American, taking his keys from the hanger.

Naturally, the younger would follow the elder to and out the door, knowing that his brother was about to open his eyes to breathe the air of truth.

**A/N: Hopefully, this chapter turned out well. Constructive criticism would be ideal. **


	3. Remembering

**A/N: Please Enjoy!**

**Do not own Hetalia.**

England's eyes were glued once again to one of the books, which he had by chance left in his car accidentally. Seeing as he was completely focused onto these entries, America called driver and had started to drive them both towards France's home. America wasn't too knowing of the English driving etiquette, other than he had to drive on the opposite side of the road and so tried to quietly take the emptiest roads that lead to the Chunnel.

England was surprised at how much care and detail was placed in this particular entry about something as simple as a random day's happenings! Life was breathed in for France, and exhaled with appreciation for the world and the events that gave it vibrancy. Nothing was ever a dull moment, and if he did not write, he would catch up to speed whenever he had the chance to. The entries were practically embodied the love and peace that he would so blather on about endlessly to the Brit about. The thing that surprised England the most were the more taboo subjects that France addressed. He hunched over propping his elbows on his legs and the book to hide them from view.

"If this is so bloody tamed, how can I still feel so bloody uncomfortable?" he blushed intensely, unable to look away. "This is embarrassing…"

America stopped at a red light and leaned over to see what the other was reading. "Woah…" He whistled and wiggled eyebrows at England. "You probably wish that was you, huh? This chick saw more action in three years than you saw in your entire life! Hah!"

"Shut up! This just bloody proves my point that France is a perverted frog and that he isn't capable of the love and romance he so dearly speaks of!" England looked away, frowning deeply. America was right by all accounts about him wanting to be the one he spoke of in that entry, but he wouldn't admit it. The thought itself disgusted his English common sense. Whoever dare lay with a frog deserves treatment no better than that of a dog. "What a bloody looser…"

"I don't think so!" Alfred begun to drive again, a shy smile on his face, which made him look almost identical to his brother. There was a sense of innocence and understanding in his tone. "I mean if someone is willing to do that with France, it's bound to be love, right? And remember what time period this was too! I think it was embarrassing for him too."

England cocked his head America's way almost immediately at that, a half hearted glare piercing at America. He felt rather betrayed that his own brother would appeal to France's case before his own. Especially when he knew how bad France could get! "Once a frog, always a frog! The same goes for his lechery! I can't seem to remember a single time when he wasn't a pervert!"

"Oh, really?" America raised brows at the claim, seemingly already having something in mind. A mischievous grin slowly widened as he stopped again at the red light.

"Really! There was never, ever, ever a time when he was not trying to get into people's trousers!"

"How about the French-Indian War? France was pretty abstinent during that war, it seemed."

_Francis adjusted his overcoat and smirked at America, his men behind him with guns loaded. "Do you honestly believe that you could win? Cher monsieur Jones, you are but a colony! And a British one at that. What sort of discipline do you honestly believe you have? You have none! And without discipline or a sufficient army, you can never hope to put men like moi down." He took a few light steps towards the to-be nation whom was at the moment bound, staying his distance. "Now ,why are you even here…?"_

_America frowned, feeling the urge to punch the other's face but unable to do so. "I'm here in the name of the Queen! I have come to tear down your fort! This is British land you are building on!"_

_The Frenchman faked a look of surprise. __"British land? Au contraire, ma tourterelle. " __He flipped his wrist and raised a nonchalant brow. "This is all French land. In fact, what you are standing on is my son, Nouveau France or Quebec, as he likes to be called. He is an intelligent boy, very much eager to know about the world, like yourself." He kneeled to the American, over to raise his chin. "Unlike yourself however, he has discipline. He listens to his leader and does not question a single one of his orders." A thumb began to play with America's bottom lip. "You'd like him a lot, he looks exactly like you…I know I do."_

_America at that moment chomped down on France's thumb, immediately gaining his recoiling reaction and a unison gun pointing his way. Quickly recovering, France pulled up the American, to his level, feeling him attempting to squirm out of his tattered uniform. __"Que tu es emmerdant!_ _Je vais te tuer!"_

"_I'm sorry, I don't speak frog!"_

_Throwing America to the floor, he took out a pistol and pointed it to his head. "Perhaps you speak this!" He cocked the gun, seemingly satisfied with him flinching and immediately lowered it. "I thought so…"_

_A smirk crossed his face as he forcibly picked up the British colony once more. "Monsieur Jones, you are too much like my son for me to kill you." He dropped him on his feet. "Thus I shall let you go free, on the condition that you both warn the other colonists and British that we are prepared to wage war if you return, and that you deliver a message to Angleterre. I am sure that returning his brother will have him completing this task for me in gratitude." France turned around and called out behind him. "Matthieu!"_

_A young man, about Alfred's age hurried himself to France's side. Other than the clean French uniform he wore, his eye color and hair style, he was the spitting image of the other, down to the height and body build._

"_Oui, Papa?"_

"_Please lead monsieur Jones back the way he came. When you reach the end of the valley, untie him and hand to him the parchments I gave to you. Take two men with you to make sure you have no problems." He spoke without taking his eyes off the tied up man._

"_D'accord." He nodded obediently and motioned two of the French soldiers to come to him._

_America grimaced. "If you had any real dignity, you'd kill me now, France!"_

"_Oh, but that would ruin the fun to come…"_

"_What fun…?" The British colony raised a brow. He grew more tense, knowing that something was immediately._

"_How important are you to Angleterre?"_

_The question confused America. "What do you mean by that? I'm real important to him!"_

"_Bon. Continue to be so, for as long as you can. Big brother has your best interests at heart." He winked at Alfred before throwing a hand into the air. "He's all yours Matthieu! Take him out of my sight!"_

_As the three Frenchmen took Alfred away, he could be seen bowing to them, a French flag rising into the air. It began to wave proudly, as if taunting the failure of the American._

_Or perhaps it was waving him a friendly good-bye. At this point, he couldn't tell._

"You told me he just courteously let you go!" England looked to the driving American. Somehow, he felt that was the case. "And for your information, Francis was a bloody pervert during the Seven Years War." England looked to the book once more and heaved a heavy sigh. "You obviously didn't know what he wrote in that letter."

_The Englishman walked into his Boston home, seeing a battered America in the kitchen. "Alfred! What happened to you?" He rushed over to the other, quickly going to clean him up. "Bloody hell, Alfred, I told you I should have come with you!"_

_The other didn't respond at that moment, slowly raising a folded parchment up to him. Quickly, England snatched it and opened it up, immediately recognizing the handwriting. "France…"_

_**Cher Angleterre,**_

_**If you receive this letter, it means that your America made it to you safe and sound. Consider the state in which he is received none of my problem, as I was not the one whom escorted him back to whichever one of the colonies he originated from. I am simply the one whom let him free. For these services I require compensation in the form of two favors from you.**_

_**First and foremost, I do not wish you back in these lands near the valley. These lands belong to France and the Quebecois. I need not you come and make trouble by sending your boy back here as I cannot guarantee he'll return the next time. If you so disobey this order, I shall consider it an act of against my nation and wage war against you.**_

_**This is a personal favor. As I hear, your relations with Austria are in better condition as my own. Help me establish a connection with him so that we may speak together about a specific jewel of his that I wish to gain. The treasure I so speak of is Marie Antoinette, the daughter of the incumbent Queen of Austria, Maria Theresa. It is a well known fact to use in France that she is one of the most beautiful women in Europe, and as such, we wish to acquire her. And to answer any lingering questions, yes, I am intending to enact the Droit du Seigneur on the evening of her marriage to the prince of our own monarchy.**_

_**These are the two simple requests I wish fulfilled. If you wish not to do anything to respect this, remember that I could have easily killed monsieur Jones and will in the slowest most painful way any domain can perish.**_

_**This is the absolute truth.**_

_**François Bonnefoi**_

"Dude…" America stopped the car, finally reaching France's home. There was a moment of silence, an expression of shock and deep thinking on his face.

"Since when was France's name Frahn-swah?"

"Oh bloody nora, Alfred!" Englishman got out of the car and quickly made his way to France's door, in disbelief of the other's indifference to the important information of the story.

"No! I'm serious! Since when?"

English sighed, stopping in front of the door. "Francis changed his name after the French Revolution for François Bonnefoi to Francis Bonnefoy. I neither care to know why or anything else about the subject of such a minimalistic change. It's just plain stupid." He rang the doorbell to the large estate and waited silently for France to open the door.

In the car, in plain sight was the entry which the two began the fight about. There was no attempt to conceal even the large signature of France's that was on the page, and seeing as France was not home, he was more likely to see it on his way in, as he was to right then and there.

"Hm? What is this~?" A familiar voice rang behind the two.

Arthur turned around.


End file.
